


Parseltongue

by Serasri



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 22:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9349406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serasri/pseuds/Serasri
Summary: parseltongue is possession, and petrification,and listening to a horror narrate its hunger and huntthrough the walls of a castle i consider call home





	

Parseltongue

parseltongue is possession, and petrification,   
and listening to a horror narrate its hunger and hunt   
through the walls of a castle i consider call home

it’s imprisonment and hunger   
in a place i have always suffered,   
but never before feared to die in   
(it is threats of from magic hating relatives   
and well-meant house elves   
and of expulsion)

it’s ridicule and prejudice,   
fearful whispers around corners of empty hallways   
and suspicious looks over shoulders   
clustered in popular corridors

it’s words written in blood,   
desecrating ancient walls and sacred magic,   
(it’s secrets and discoveries and flooded bathrooms)   
it’s suffering ego and meaningless noise   
in arrogance so commonplace its expected

(it’s torn pages in a frozen grip and hand held mirrors,   
cancelled quidditch matches and constant supervision,   
it’s appearances and fleeing spiders and sentient cars,   
it’s a friend lying as if behind the veil, side by side   
with innocent children and the lingering dead died again)

it’s diaries that answer back   
and the twisted teenage boys trapped within,   
it’s anagrams, and irony so bitter it taints   
every person everything it touches 

it’s a pale washed out girl   
on cold wet stone, fiery hair abrupt   
amidst black and green deep beneath the ground

(it was adrenaline pumping through my veins  
and my heart pounding in my ears,  
dank stale air in my lungs  
and the terror of returning to my relatives  
heavy in my chest)

it’s slaying an ancient creature  
with a sword pulled from a hat  
and an immortal bird’s bolstering song

it’s a basilisk fang in my arm,  
burning poison coursing through my veins,  
venom that dissolves me  
from the inside out,  
and an absolute belief  
that my death was imminent,  
and inevitable

(it’s the utter certainty  
that if this was what death was,  
that it would not be in vain,  
unearned or unavenged,  
it would be righteous and valiant  
and they would be proud)

parseltongue is the acceptance  
that this was the end, this is it,  
and that i was to do my very best  
to bring tom marvolo riddle down  
with me,  
his death with the tool of mine

his crimes would not go unpunished  
and justice would be had


End file.
